Today was going to be great!  A sunny sky, warm breezes, birds singing, and she was finally going back to work.  Yes! 

Two weeks ago, as soon as the personage she had been caring for was strong enough to be on his own, she had been shipped off to Frankfurt and the care of a military opthamalogic specialist.  She had spent the ensuing time living in a dark room and wearing an eye patch that made her look like Moshe Dyan, and she was ready to get back out in the world.

She walked quickly down the familiar corridor of Berlin Station and turned into the Ops room to check in. Warren, the Acting Chief, and his secretary, Alex, were going over the day's duty roster.  Hugging both of them, she said, "Auntie Em!  Uncle Henry! I'm home!  There's no place like home!  There's no place like home!" and she clicked her heels together three times. 

Looking towards the ceiling, Warren sighed and said, "There goes the neighborhood!"  She punched him playfully in the arm and turned to Alex and asked, "Has the power gone to his head yet or is he behaving himself?"

At that precise moment, the anteroom door opened and in strode Control.  He looked a lot better than the last time she had seen him.  The pallor was gone and he didn't have that weak kitten look. 

With Control's sudden appearance, Alex took the duty roster back behind her desk and sat down.  Warren, in an attempt to ease the sudden chill in the room, smiled at the man and said, "Just welcoming our prodigal child back from the wilderness." 

Control looked from Warren over to Corrie and said in a voice that was all business, "Well, before you kill the fattened calf and prepare the feast, we still have quite of few of these personnel records to go over.  And, now that she is back, your secretary can set up the appointment for her evaluation review."   Handing the file folders he had been carrying to Warren, Control nodded to the two women and left the room.

After standing still for a few seconds, Warren turned to Corrie and said, "Don't!  If you value your career, don't make any of your usual comments in that man's presence.  He wouldn't understand." 

Corrie flashed a devilish grin and said, "Now, just what comments would you be referring to?  What could little old me say that would upset anyone so big and strong as he is?  And, by the way, what the bloody hell was that all about?"

Placing his hand on her shoulder, Warren steered her down the hall and into his office.  Closing the door, he motioned her into one of the straight back chairs facing his desk.  Seating himself, he turned towards her and sighed.  "The last two weeks have been rough on everyone here.  Control rose from his sick bed and hasn't let up since."  Rubbing his face with one hand, he continued, "No one has been spared."

The playful look left her eyes and she looked tenderly at the man who had become a mentor to her this last year.  "Warren, you, of all people, have nothing to worry about.  Your record here speaks for itself.  You couldn't help it if Davies and the other three idiots were drunken clowns who finally found the light pole with their names on it.  You kept this place running smoothly all through their bullshit.  He should recommend you for a damn medal for taking the initiative!"

Shaking his head, Warren replied,  "Our man Control sees things only in black and white.  He sees the screw up by Davies and friends in big, black letters. They tainted the entire operation here with their actions.  Now we have to prove, to his satisfaction, that each and every one of us have not been contaminated by the rotten fruit."

"Oh, so we are operating under the sentence of 'guilty until proven innocent', is that it?" she asked. 

Smiling, he said, "Yes, that's about it.  Add to that the fact that the man is totally company business, has no life beyond the office, has no sense of humor, and, now that he has his strength back, never seems to tire.  Just what was in that chicken soup you made that gave him super powers?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Can't tell you.  It's a secret family recipe. Involves incantations by the dark of the moon and such.  I also have one with mushrooms that turns jackasses into frog princes.   Should I brew up a pot for our visitor?" she asked with an innocent smile. "Or, I could just..."

Wagging his finger at her, he shook his head and said, "Corrie, seriously, when you do go in for the evaluation review, please don't be flippant with him.  He does not understand humor in any form. He is a company man through and through.  You'll end up on the South Pole run delivering spy glasses to the penguins."

Laughing, she replied, "I'll try to tone it down a little, but I can't promise not to yank his chain if he asks for it.  You know I have absolutely no patience with, or respect for, company automatons that waltz in and grunt their displeasure at everything they see.  If they want my respect, they have to earn it from me.  Okay boss, what do you want me to do now that I'm back on the farm?"

Knowing that Corrie would hear no more of his pleas to behave, Warren said, "Back to Communications. With that gift of yours for tinkering with obstinate equipment, that's where I can use you the most right now. That new wonder computer that is supposed to make surveillance so easy is acting up again.  It only wants to work when you are in house."

Nodding, she smiled, "What can I say, it's the family curse. Dad can field strip anything and put it together again blindfolded.  Growing up army brats, and living on out of the way stations, my brothers and I spent most of our playtime scrounging around for old parts and stuff to build our own mechanized army.  It's a good thing we were on the side of the good guys.  We could have built our own evil empire."

Laughing, Warren said, "Yes, the mind boggles at the thought of what that wild bunch of yours could have accomplished if you had set your collective minds to it. Now get out of here and let me get some work done before Control finds out I've wasted the last 10 minutes just talking to someone.   Go! And don't be late for your review!"

Three hours, forty-six minutes later, Corrie was seated, as demurely as her mother had taught her to sit, in the Big Man's office facing Control across his desk.   He was sitting back in a large leather chair, one leg casually crossed over his other knee, her personnel file on his lap. His left arm was resting on the chair arm with his left thumb and index finger supporting his chin.  His right hand was flipping through the pages of her file.  Since waving her into a chair, he neither spoke nor looked up.   'The silence game,' she thought.

She took the opportunity to quietly observe the man who held so much power and commanded so much respect.  'Or was it fear?' she wondered.  She concentrated her attention on his eyes.  During his illness, they had been either closed in unconsciousness or staring wildly in delirium.  She liked his eyes.  Hooded by his eyebrows, they were a fascinating shade of blue that in certain light turned steel gray.  She also liked the tone and quality of his voice, when he spoke.  'Ok, Corrie,' she said to herself, 'let's keep this on a professional basis.  Keep those hormones in check.  Remember where you are, who you are, and who he is,' she admonished herself. 

After precisely 4 minutes and 26 seconds of silence, Control looked up from the file and said, "Very impressive record and credentials."  

Corrie just nodded and smiled.

"You come from quite a family.  Your father was Regular Army.   Your mother was a teacher.  Seven brothers, four of them are high-ranking officers in military service. Two brothers are also with the Company.  One brother is with the NSA.  Quite impressive," he finished.

She smiled again.

"Mr. Peterson, Warren, was quite generous in his evaluation of your abilities.  He said you had a "gift with equipment" and could speak any language you set your mind to.  Your record states you are certified in four languages, German, Russian, Arabic, and Japanese."

She smiled and said, "Yes."

"Can you speak any others?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied,  "but I'm not company certified in them."

"I understand, then what languages aren't you certified in?" he asked.

"French, Latin, Navajo, Greek, and Hebrew," she answered.

"That's quite a range.  Where did you learn so many different languages?" he asked

"My mother," she answered.

Throwing the file on top of the desk, Control locked his steely eyes on her and said, "I get the feeling you are playing a game of cat and mouse with your answers, Miss Murchison.  Do you agree?"

"No," she replied, staring back at him.

"No?"

"No.  I am answering your questions as simply as possible so as not to waste your valuable time," she finally elaborated, looking straight into his eyes.

"Oh, I see."   He paused, meeting her gaze, and said, "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"No," she replied again.

"Why not?"

"My father told me, when I was a little girl, that the only man in this world I had to worry about pleasing, or impressing, was him because he gave me life, and taught me right from wrong. He also taught me always to do the best I can, to the best of my ability, and to be proud of my accomplishments.   I've lived by those words ever since."

"They are good words to live by.  Your father is a wise man. I get the feeling, though, that there's more to your fearlessness than your father's words of advice.  Is there any other reason you are not particularly afraid of me?" he asked.

Not liking his tone of voice and having enough of the game she felt he was playing, a wicked smile crossed Corrie's face and she said,  "You mean besides the fact I've seen you naked?"

The Krakatoa volcanic explosion was nothing compared to Control's reaction to her last words.  Jumping to his feet, his hands on his hips, he glared at her and said in a very measured, very angry voice, "What did you just say?"

Also standing now, Corrie glared right back into his anger, and stressing each word individually, she repeated,  "I have seen you naked."  Letting loose her own anger, she said, "Excuse me, but it's rather difficult to bow and scrape to someone who threw up on you the first time you met.  And, it sort of takes the edge off any possible fear of a person in authority when youve spent eight days nursing that exalted personage through vomit, bodily functions, delirium, and physical assault. You want to know about my qualifications and my record with the company?  It's right there in black and white in my file.  Read it!  You want to try and make me sweat under the glare of your almighty power and royal personage?  Forget it!  Go to Hell!  I passed my father's tests. I've even won the respect of my brothers.  You do not frighten, or impress, me in the least!"

They stood, locked in a glaring match for what seemed like forever.  Neither blinked.  Neither moved.  Breathing was optional.  Then, Control slowly lowered his hands.   Not breaking eye contact, he said, "Good.   Very good!   I had the feeling that you were more than just some wind up agent doll.  Very few people have had the guts to tell me off so thoroughly.  I am," he hesitated a moment, then said, "impressed!   Sit down.  We can get back to business now."

Still standing, Corrie refused to let go of her anger that easily.  "Is that an order, sir?  So, you are impressed?  I am more than a wind up doll?  What do you think I am?  I can tell you this, I am not a performing lab rat you can drop into a maze to see how long it takes me to find the cheese!"

The man across the desk stood silent for a moment just watching her.  Finally, he exhaled and said, "No, yes, yes, and obviously, you are no performing lab rat, Miss Murchison.  On occasion, it is necessary for me to test an agent in the company's employ, to judge their reaction in certain situations, to certain types of people, so that I can evaluate them more thoroughly.  This was your turn.  Now, can we get on with the review or do you want to stand here and exchange hostile glares for the rest of the afternoon?  It is your choice."

Corrie looked straight into the depths of his eyes, as if she could see into his very soul.  She nodded once, and a slight smile crossed her lips.  She sat back down in the chair and looked up at him and said, "Please, call me Corrie.  Miss Murchison sounds like one of my spinster aunts."

The remainder of the afternoon went by quickly.  Control would ask specific questions about Corrie's twelve years working for the company; assignments she had had, courier routes she had run, and supervisors she had encountered.  Corrie would answer the questions, and they would then discuss the answers in depth.  They also discussed the music they enjoyed, places they had been, and people they both knew.  Corrie even had Control laughing as she described one of her more memorable moments with her pack of brothers.  And she liked the way he laughed, too.   There was a quality to his laugh that combined with a different light in his eyes to totally change his persona.

In the middle of one of these discussions, there was a quiet knock at the door.  Control barked, "Come," and Warren entered the room.  "I've brought this afternoon's logs for you to see.  Is there anything else you might need tonight?  I was thinking of heading home."

Looking quickly at his watch, Control stood and replied, "I am sorry, I had no idea it had gotten this late.  Thanks for bringing in the logs.  I think I have everything I need for tonight.  Go, and have a good night.  I'll see you tomorrow morning."

As Warren turned to leave, his glance searched Corrie's face to get some idea of how the review was going.  No one else had had this long of a review and his concern was written on his face.  Corrie's answering smile was greatly reassuring.

Alone again, Control remained standing, shuffling the papers and files on his desk.  "I don't know where the afternoon has gotten to.  I do apologize if I've kept you from anything important," he told her. 

Corrie responded by shaking her head and saying, "No, I had no plans."

Control stopped his reorganization of the desktop and said, "I've kept you here quite late.  I didn't get a chance to eat lunch today, did you?"  Getting a negative shake of her head in response, Control continued, "I feel I should at least offer to take you to dinner for being such an ogre."

Laughing out loud, Corrie replied, "I wouldn't use the word 'ogre'.  Ogres have a much better sense of humor.  I'd say you're more troll-like. Did you have anyplace in mind?"

"Thanks for setting me straight," he replied.  "And no, I don't.  Most of the meals I've eaten since arriving in the office were either carried in, or I ate at the hotel.  Any suggestions or do you still have some of that chicken soup at the safe house we can get?"

"Sorry," she replied with a straight face, "I've been instructed by higher authorities not to give you any more of the chicken soup.  It gives you too much strength and energy.  Come on, I've got a place in mind that should fit all of our dietary requirements."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated in a booth in a small beer hall just around the corner from the station.  The regular denizens of Berlin Station ate here often but it was not the type of place management generally frequented.  They ate their meal slowly, their conversation returning to art and literature and the adventures of growing up in a large family.  When they were finished eating, and could linger over their empty coffee cups no longer, they went outside to discover that a light rain had begun sometime during their meal.  Control gladly accepted the ride Corrie offered him back to the hotel he was staying at. He instructed her to park just out of range of the ever-vigilant doorman.  Corrie was in the middle of giving Control a blow by blow description of the events that occurred from his arrival at the airport, to the time, eight days following, when he came out of his delirium.  Shaking his head, Control said almost sheepishly, "I gave you one hell of a time, didn't I?  I do apologize for all of the trouble I was, and for all the crap I put you through."

Laughing at the contrite look on his face, Corrie told him, "You don't have to apologize again.  You were sick!  You had no idea what you were doing.  I'm sure you don't punch out nurses on a regular basis."

Reaching out his right hand, he lightly outlined the orbit of her right eye with his fingertips.  "No, I am not in the habit of punching nurses, or, for that matter, any other Good Samaritan who has come to my aid.  That's why I feel so badly about hitting you the way I did."  His hand lingered, his fingertips gently caressing her cheek.

Exhaling slowly, Control looked deep into the eyes of this woman facing him in the front seat of the car.  "You are the most unusual woman I have ever met, inside or outside of the company.  You do not fit into any of the usual categories or peg holes, you have the strangest outlook towards life I've ever known, you laugh easily, even at your own foibles, you march to your own drummer, and you make the rest of us wish we could hear him too.  Why is that?"

Chuckling, she said, "I don't know.  I'm sure Freud would have a great deal to say about it, though!"

His fingertips slowly traced her jaw line back to her ear, and then he slipped his hand behind her head and drew her to his waiting mouth.  Time and place ceased to exist.  Corrie felt herself drawn in to him and was blissfully pulled under by the wave of passion his kiss ignited in her body.  Surrendering fully, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled herself even closer.  His wonderful hands caressed her body, making her groan in desire. 

Finally, regretfully, their lips parted.  They sat in silence, each reading the longing and want in the other's eyes.  After a short time, Corrie noticed a change creep into his look.  Reaching out her hand to touch his arm, she asked, "What?"

Taking her hand in his, he sighed and said, "I don't know if this is so wise.  I'm not so sure I'm doing you any favor by wanting you this way."

Blinking to clear her mind, Corrie said, "Could you give me a few more details to explain this feeling you have so I can help you make up your mind?"

He caressed her hand as he spoke and said, "I'm not an easy man to love.  My work is important to me.  A long time ago I made the decision to make it my number one priority.  That doesn't leave much time to give to someone else. I've had a relationship or two in my time.  They ended badly because of my work with the Company."

Corrie winced inside seeing the pain in his eyes.  "Was one of them with Susan?" she asked.

"How did you know about Susan?" he asked in surprised confusion.

"You called out her name several times in your delirium.  You also said you were sorry.  I didn't want to ask you about it.  I figured it was none of my business."

He closed his eyes before answering, "My relationship with Susan lasted the longest.  She was a free spirit and could always find different people or things to keep her occupied while I toiled away for the Company.  We would meet when I could get away, in different places.  Life would be good for a while, and then she would be off on one of her quests again, and I would return to the job.  Our last meeting was in Paris.  After barely two days, she packed her things and told me she would not be coming back.  She said that she was tired of competing with my other mistress, my work, and told me the Company could have me.  She left and I never heard from her again."

"I'd say that it was her loss," Corrie broke in.

Control continued, "There's more.  I've made enemies in my work.  Enemies who would not hesitate to get to me through someone I knew, someone I called 'friend', or someone I cared for.  I couldn't bear it if..."

Before he could go on, Corrie reached out and took his face in both her hands.  "I've heard enough.  Look me straight in the eyes, and listen carefully to what I am saying.  I am not some 'free spirit', or a little girl.  I am a card carrying, weapon qualified, field trained, fire tempered, kick ass member of the company. I know the job.  I know the risks. You can not scare me with tales of boogey men lurking in the shadows.  There is only one question that you need to answer here," she told him.

In spite of himself, he smiled at the force of her words, and asked, "Just what is that one question I am supposed to answer?"

"Before I ask it, kiss me," she told him.  He leaned in willingly and gathered her in his arms and kissed her, hard and deep.  As their lips parted, Corrie slid her tongue along his jaw to his ear.   "Now," she whispered huskily, nibbling on his earlobe, darting her tongue in and out, feeling his answering arousal, "my place, or yours?" 

Deciding that someone might notice her car parked outside of Control's hotel all night, Corrie set a new speed record for the trip to her apartment.  Taking his hand, she led him directly to her bedroom.  "You can have the tour in the morning," she told him.  "First things first." 

She turned a small bedside lamp on and pulled the bed covers down.  Kicking off her shoes, she turned to him and pulled off his already untied tie.  Helping him remove his jacket, she placed both articles of clothing carefully on a bedroom chair.  Hurrying back to his waiting arms, she felt herself lifted off her feet and placed on the bed as he kissed her repeatedly.  They did not hurry, but leisurely took turns removing one article of clothing at a time from the other.  Slowly, tenderly, thoroughly, they would explore the newly exposed flesh, reveling in the carnal feelings they aroused in each other.  Corrie gave special attention to the scars on his hard, strong body that she had first noticed during his illness.  Caressing and kissing each one in its turn, she would linger over the area until he groaned at her touch.  In turn, he used his wondrous fingers to play a symphony of caresses across her answering body.  And when the time of joining came, their bodies met and danced joyously to the rhythm of their passion, bringing each to a level of fulfillment they had never known before.